Cutting Room Floor
by CorvusCorvidae
Summary: Quinntana drabbles; in the hope to cure writer's block.
1. Chapter 1: A Means To An End

I've been experiencing some rather brutal writer's block and to slowly work my way through it I'm now writing drabbles. Some of these will be stand alone, others might make it to a full blown story, it all depends.

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Cutting Room Floor

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As the time ticked on, Quinn grew more and more anxious. Granted, it wasn't like Santana was late, seeing as Quinn had arrived fifteen minutes early, but she at least thought she would be punctual. This was apparently what she wanted, so where was she?

Turning on the spot and pacing back and forth, it became harder and harder to believe this would happen. Maybe it was foolish to be so full of optimism, but Santana had made it seem possible, like this could and would work, and maybe that was going to be Quinn's downfall; believing her.

Yes, it had been her idea to finally take the plunge, to clear the air and confess what they had both been thinking, but Quinn hadn't been expecting to hear that Santana was in the same boat, with the same feelings, the same need to be together. So they were to meet, instead of talking over the phone, over Skype, over states; they were to do this in person.

Yet Quinn was there, and Santana was nowhere in sight.

Just when she was so close to giving up, to leaving, to walking away, she saw what she needed to see, and the rest fell into place.

"You came," Quinn murmured, unbelieving her in view of Santana standing there, looking as calm and as natural as she'd ever seen her. There were no gimmicks, no attempts to impress, they were past that, it was just them now.

Stepping closer, Santana reached forward and took a hold of Quinn's hands, caressing the skin beneath her fingertips, soaking up the sensation of even being able to do just this.

"Did you honestly think I wouldn't?" Santana asked, taking a page out of Quinn's book and raising her eyebrow in question.

How could there have been doubts. Was in not obvious since day one how Santana felt about her. Yes, there was Brittany, and Dani, and all the other girls afterwards, but none of them compared to the one standing before Santana.

That night together, even in the drunken haze at the Bushwick apartment, Santana could remember it all; from the feel of Quinn's lips against her own to the sound Quinn made when she came beneath her tongue. All of it was ingrained in Santana's mind, and she had just been waiting, waiting for the moment to finally come clean, to let it be known that she hadn't forgotten, she could never forget.

So why would Santana have ditched on this? Why would she have turned down Quinn's offer? Why, after all these years, full of tears and heartache, love and loss, would Santana now decide that she had had enough?

Smiling at her response, Quinn leant forward, her forehead leaning against Santana's, both looking in the other's eyes, before Santana could wait no longer. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against Quinn's, slowly, softly, and then kisses her again, and again, welcoming Quinn's arms around her neck.

Holding the other close, breathing the air in their lungs, brushing their tongues against the other, becoming intoxicated by the scent of the other, they stood together as one, ignoring the outside world, the one that had tried so hard to pull them apart. But it didn't matter, they were finally together. They couldn't be stopped. They weren't going to let it dictate to them.

No, standing in the other's arms, both were in agreement; no more, no more running, no more hiding, no more playing it safe. They were going to go for what they wanted, no matter what.

Thankfully, it just so happened that what they wanted was each other.

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	2. Chapter 2: Fire Escape

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Fire Escape

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You could see her from your fire escape. Not in a creepy way. You weren't out there with binoculars and your hand in your underwear. It was purely accidental; one bitter night where the sky was clear and you were desperate for a smoke. If you hadn't spent so much money redecorating, you probably would have smoked inside, but fuck it if you didn't want your place smelling like an ashtray.

So there you were, sitting on the rails, looking out into the dingy view of the alley and wondering whether it was worth quitting when she turned on her lights and walked into your peripheral view, sealing your fate.

You didn't mean to stare. You didn't plan on looking longer than that initial glance to see why the light had come on, but then your eyes couldn't look away. She wasn't doing anything of particular interest, just standing in view, reading whatever she was holding in her hand. And then she laughed, her smile infectious, and you smiled, too.

There was something peaceful about people watching, seeing them so at ease with themselves, and as you took another drag, you wondered what her story was. Who was she? What did she do? What made her laugh so beautifully? What brought her to the city? Did she really like the yellow of that wall or was that the colour originally there when she moved in?

Whatever the answers to those questions, you resigned yourself to the fact you would never know them, and finally looked away. Your cigarette was almost done, and the cold was still as bitter as it was when you climbed out there. Perhaps it was time to head back inside.

Before you could make that move, though, another window was opening, and there she was, climbing out in a much more elegant fashion than you had managed. There was no way you could move now, not without her seeing you, and that could not happen.

So instead, you remained still, watching as she brushed herself off, half closing the window behind her. Fixated on her, you observed as she looked out over the alley, glanced up to the sky and then back down again. She ran her hand through her blonde hair, ruffling it, and if you weren't mistaken, it looked like she was talking under her breath to herself.

She didn't scream crazy, nor did she look like she was going to take a flying leap. If anything, it was merely like she was berating herself for something, and god, you knew that well. There wasn't a day that went past were you didn't insult yourself for something completely ridiculous or foolish you had done; and when you finally went back inside you knew you'd bitch yourself out for staring at your neighbour like she was on some show.

Shaking your head at yourself, you rose the cigarette to your lips once more, and watched as she looked up, seeing you for the first time, causing you to freeze.

She was looking right at you, across the way, fire escape to fire escape, unwavering in her gaze. Your momentarily look of being caught in headlights dimmed away slowly, and you relaxed into your typical confident posture.

Taking that drag you had been so desperate for, you watched as her eyes flicked to your cigarette and then back to you. She didn't look disgusted, nor judgemental. Instead, she smiled a smirk you wanted to know more about, and you found yourself pressing closer to the rail, as if you could physically move closer to her.

She saw your intrigue, and with a parting smile, she headed back inside, leaving you frowning. Stubbing your cigarette out in the ashtray you had snuck out there, you made your move to climb back inside.

That was enough creeping on your neighbours for one night. No more.

*0*0*

You intended to forget about how you spent that part of your evening, but when you returned home from work the next day, there was a clear reminder pinned to the door of the building. For whatever reason you chose to read it, where you'd normally bypass these as nuisance flyers, but this was different, and you were curious.

_Fire escape – if you ever feel like quitting, Dr. Q. Fabray would be happy to help you. _

Fire escape; that was you, unless someone else had been out there last night. Taking the note down, you held it in your hand as you climbed the stairs to your place. Once inside, door closed, you looked it over once more.

Typically when someone told you to quit, you snarled in their face and told them to mind their own business, so what was making this different? Why were you even pausing to consider? Was it because a pretty girl was suggesting you quit? Was that really it?

Crumpling up the note, you rolled your eyes and threw it in your trash.

Three ex-girlfriends and one ex-fiancé hadn't managed to get you to quit, so what chance did this stranger have. No, no thanks. You were happy as you were. And whoever Dr. Q. Fabray was, well they were just going to have to do without you as another smoking statistic.

It was your life, and you intended to live it how you pleased.

And later that night, when you were desperate for a smoke, you did. You climbed out, relished in the feeling of the smoke in your lungs, and enjoyed all it had to offer.

Not even once did you glance over as to where the blonde lived, and not once did you feel bad about not going to Dr. Fabray to get help quitting.

This was your escape, your moment away from the world, and you weren't giving that up for nothing.

If only you had known.

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	3. Chapter 3: Post-Quinn

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Post-Quinn

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Opening the door as quietly as possible, Mercedes and Kurt snuck inside their friends' third floor apartment to assess the damage. At nine o'clock that morning, the two of them had received a text politely requesting they head over and offer emotional support.

It didn't take them long to work out why they would need to, and within the hour they had sought out their spare keys and had made their way on over.

Immediately inside, they were met with a drastic change, and they both winced. If for one moment they thought this break would be temporary, like the few before it, the sight before them said otherwise.

"It looks bare," Kurt whispered, turning to look at Mercedes sharply. This was unexpected. This was very unexpected. "Where did she take it all? Does she have a place lined up already?" His voice was rattling with emotion, aghast at this turn of events.

"There's a girl in one of her classes, she found a place and needed a roommate," Mercedes answered, unable to hide her disdain. That little tid-bit of information had taken her thirty minutes to find out.

"A bit convenient," Kurt muttered, looking at all the empty spaces dotted around the apartment where things used to be. He was so used to seeing the place full of life that this shell that he was now standing in was startling.

"Hmm," Mercedes hummed in agreement, eyeing up the countless empty bottles of booze racked up in the recycling box.

Taking a closer look, Mercedes's shoulders sank in relief upon seeing that none of the bottles were new, and as she moved towards the bedroom, she hoped she wouldn't find a new set piled up next to her friend.

Meanwhile, Kurt went to see what else Quinn had taken with her. The bookcases which were once filled with books, cds, dvds, were near empty, and the ones left behind were scattered about the shelves. Also in the living room, he noted, gone were the end tables, which accented nicely with the couch that had been bought together. That was still in place, of course, but only because one side had a pretty poor stitching job from a drunken mishap. After that incident, Quinn had hated the couch, so obviously she'd leave it behind.

Continuing on towards what used to be their dining area, he found a big empty space. She'd taken the table and chairs, but noticing the box in the corner, he saw that she'd left the place mats, coasters, and napkin holders. How helpful.

Shaking his head, he tried not to take sides in this battle, but it was tricky. Quinn had not explained what had happened, just that the relationship was over, and that Mercedes and him should go see Santana. That was it. But seeing the place, it made him think this had been a brutal abandonment.

Taking a seat on the couch, facing the TV which was now perched on the floor given Quinn had taken the table it used to sit on, Kurt sighed and dropped his head back. His friends were idiots, and now he was going to be caught in the crossfire of whatever war was about to take place.

Further up the hall towards the bedroom, Mercedes was having similar thoughts. Taking sides would be stupid, as she'd learnt the first time they had broken up, but this looked final. There didn't seem to be any wiggle room left for amends to be made. Quinn had cleared the place of herself, almost as if removing the fact she ever lived there. There was no way Mercedes could ever see her coming back, and knowing that, she opened the bedroom door as softly as possible to see how much collateral damage had been done.

Buried under a mountain of covers, Mercedes found Santana and sighed. She was thankful to see a slow rise and fall of the girl's breathing as she made her way over to sit on the bed. With her movements, the covers ruffled and bunched up to one side, finally revealing Santana's broken features to the blonde.

"She left me," Santana murmured, frowning in confusion. It looked as if she couldn't quite understand what had happened, and Mercedes knew Kurt and her were going to be there much longer than they first anticipated.

Turning back to the pillows, Santana buried her face in it as her body shook from the tears, and Mercedes couldn't stand to see her fall apart like this. She might not have been as close to Santana as Quinn, but she still cared for her, and this was not a good sight. If Snix was willing to break down in front of her, the situation was so much more serious than she thought.

Later on, later on Mercedes would need to question Quinn, to find out what had happened, and how they were all going to move on. But until then, she had Santana to tend to, or at least until Rachel could get her ass over there.

"Is she…" Kurt's words died as he saw the sight of Santana and he frowned. She most definitely was not okay, but she was breathing and that counted for something.

Walking over, he crawled on the other side of the bed and patted Santana's back, knowing that she could lash out like this. There had been too many breaks up through college not to know.

"You should go," Kurt suggested, not wanting to say the rest of that sentence, knowing that by repeating Quinn's name it would hurt Santana even more.

Mercedes took a second to think it over and then nodded. She knew that she needed to go see Quinn, but as her best friend, she was doing her duty and fulfilling the favour asked of her; even if that meant watching Santana fall to pieces.

Hearing the door click shut behind Mercedes, Kurt worked on getting Santana in a better way, but that was harder said that done. Eventually, she passed out from the exhaustion, and he slipped off the bed, his legs aching from being in the same position for so long.

Walking to the kitchen, or rather he was hobbling to the kitchen, Kurt set about making some coffee for himself. It was then he heard a key in the lock and froze, if this was Quinn, he was going to struggle not to throw a mug at her or something for breaking one of his closest friends into pieces.

Except it was Rachel, so Santana's mugs were safe.

"How is she, is she okay? Where is she?" Rachel asked frantically, looking frazzled, and all Kurt could do was point her towards the bedroom.

The tears started up again shortly after, except Kurt couldn't work out if they were just Rachel's or Rachel and Santana's from his place in the living room.

As the light vanished outside, and the streetlights came on instead, the three of them were still there. Santana was back to sleeping, and it was with Rachel and Kurt in the doorway that progress was made.

"What are we going to do with her?" Kurt asked, seeing the state of Santana holed up on her bed. "We can't leave her like this." His voice was fully of worry and fear, his eyes sliding back to her as he spoke.

"I'll stay with her," Rachel answered, nodding along with her thoughts. "She's not taking care of herself and I'm actually scared she'll do something foolish. So I'll stay here, or she'll stay with me, whatever works best."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

And there it was decided, and by ten o'clock that night, the two of them had bundled Santana up and gotten her to Rachel's apartment across town.

That had been the easy part; now the hard part would begin, getting her back to her normal self, post-Quinn.

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	4. Chapter 4

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She relapses, falling at your doorstep with desperation in her eyes and agony in her heart. She knows she's wronged, she knows she's made a mistake, but it's too late. The effect is already clear, the dullness of her features, as if she's checking out on you every passing second, and you wrap your arm around her and bring her inside.

Your chest aches, knowing how hard she had fought to stay strong, and then seeing her reduced to this mess. Tomorrow, she'll hate herself, and she'll pull away, apologising for broken promises and any pain caused. You'll shake your head and tell her not to worry, because you know by now that it's better to take an addict's promise with a grain of salt.

Sometimes, despite their best intentions, promises were broken.

Oh, you knew Quinn would never be falling onto your bed with her numbed features if she had her way. She'd be keeping it warm, waiting for you to join her, kissing you goodnight, and telling you she loved you.

But you couldn't date an addict, not one so deeply rooted in their addiction. It would fall to pieces, you would blame her for things that weren't her fault, you'd be scared to do anything lest she relapse, and she would hate herself for all the extra baggage in the relationship.

So instead, you told her two years of staying clean, of being drug free and you'd go on that date with her, but in the meantime you were there when she needed you.

Tonight was definitely one of those nights.

As the drugs pulled her under, her hand gripped at her thigh, clasping it tightly, and you sat on the bed next to her, soothingly running your hand over hers. She had told you how badly the scars ached, how the muscles and the joints just weren't the same now, and on nights like this you wondered just how much pain she lived with day in and day out.

Even after so many years, that car-wreck had left so much lasting damage.

Ever so carefully, you leant down and kissed her on the cheek, pushing her hair away from her face. Quinn truly was stunning, but her beauty hid the pain and darkness beneath. It was only on those rare moments like these where you could see such agony creep out; and it was horrifying to watch.

And all you could do was watch. You were hopeless in these situations, because you needed her to ride out the pills, to come down from the numbness that had set her free. And that was where most of the problems lay; she _was_ free when she was flying high on a wave of painkillers, and when she landed back down to earth, she was stuck, caught in her everyday life that couldn't stop the pain, and there was no escape but one.

"One day," Quinn murmured, her voice lower than usual, and you looked at her with concern. Her eyes were half-lidded, pupils' black as the winter night's sky, and yet there was still so much pain. She might have been feeling numb, but the agony was slipping out at every chance it got.

"One day it won't hurt anymore," she finished, trying to give you a smile as she fell away from you again.

You certainly hoped there was some truth behind her words because while you loved her, and you loved her with all you had, you weren't sure just how much more either of you could take. Something would have to give, and it would either be Quinn's dependency on the painkillers, or her will to fight off the constant aches and pains.

You wished with everything you had that it was the latter, and it was with a kiss you on her forehead you finished that wish, hoping someone would hear it and listen, because while Quinn needed the pills to survive, you needed her.

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End file.
